


six sentence fics

by marzipan (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, all the aus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16697251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marzipan
Summary: a bunch of related 6-sentence fics based off a (not in order) 30-day prompt list





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trying to see if any of these spark inspiration

**1\. Genderbend**

 

She’s a little, doe-eyed thing, the kind you can find behind any counter at any coffee shop in the city - hiding in plain sight, indeed. Mycroft purses her lips - she could say the same for herself, what with constantly being mistaken for some assistant or stenographer at meetings, despite the severe way she holds herself, as if she’s carried power from birth, along with this strange name bestowed to her. 

 

Clearly, it has its advantages.

 

The mad little thing looks out the glass she can’t see through, right at Mycroft, eyes dark and deadened. She quirks her cupid-bow lips in a knowing smile, and Mycroft frowns further. Time for a chat, then.

 

-

 

**2\. University**

 

“Hello, Professor,” Jim says cheekily, as he closes the office door behind him, and moves to take a seat opposite Dr. Holmes’s desk. 

 

Mycroft Holmes frowns at him from over his stack of essays, and supposes this is about his grade. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe a PhD candidate in astrophysics is unable to comprehend introductory-level Shakespeare,” he says by way of greeting; they’re far too familiar for pleasantries.

 

Jim sighs dramatically, before turning his attention toward the objects of Mycroft’s desk, fiddling as he monologues: “In math, the universe is perfect - line, space, proportion, motion - then I get back into the  _ real world _ and nothing makes a lick of sense, until you came along with your perfect fairy tales that make me think perhaps my spirit is able to survive this plane after all.”

 

“Do you think two people can be meant for each other after all?” he asks, before ignoring Mycroft’s sputtering and stealing a kiss.

 

-

 

**3\. De-aged**

 

“And that’s how we defeated the Kraken!” Sherlock exclaims. He throws his muddy arms up with the twin purpose of displaying the jubilation of his victory and his readiness to be picked up now.

 

Mycroft gapes at the little brother who he most recently recognized in his 30s, but now was about, well, 8, or, the age he tended to act anyway. He is equally horrified at the muddy mess, and helpless to do as asked and get it all over his coat and suit anyway.

 

The other little dark-haired boy beside Sherlock shrugs at Mycroft’s seeking, unbelieving look, peering up at him and then looking away, mumbling, “I helped too. But I don’t like getting my hands dirty.”

 

-

 

**4\. Soulmates**

 

“I met him today, my soulmate,” Mycroft says. He watches as Jim tenses and then forces himself not to tense, sees the nervousness he vehemently tries to convince himself he doesn’t feel; they’d talked about this, and how it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know whether Jim reaches for his hand or whether he reaches for Jim’s but he grasps back like it’s a lifeline.

 

“What’s he like?” Jim asks, his voice level. Mycroft squeezes his hand, staring at the dark soul mark on his own inner wrist, remembering the hum only they could hear when the two marks recognized each other. Mycroft thinks it cruel that someone so filled with love that without an outlet (Jim says it’s him, that he hears all the echoes of all marks anyway, but he chooses Mycroft and he writes for him) it overflows into wrath and rage doesn’t have one.

 

-

 

**5\. AI**

 

Jim creeps into the server room, quiet although the guards have already been incapacitated. He takes a seat on the floor in a corner - habit - and flips open his small laptop to get a visualization of the data transfer progress.

 

95….96….97...98….

 

_ HELLO _

 

The transfer stops just short of being complete as the program’s last line of security kicks in with a message, and despite it having taken months to track down even the location of where the surveillance program was moved, much less find a way in, Jim’s lips twitch immediately into a sort of quivering smile.

 

_ I’VE MISSED YOU _

 

-

 

  
**6\. Kidfic**

 

Jim’s eyes go wide as the door opens and a small bundle of pink is shoved into his arms, but no, no that’s Mycroft alright, rushing off back into his sitting room which has been converted overnight into a dual office-playpen, busy terrifying some poor politician on the other end of the phone.

 

Tentatively, Jim looks down - coming face to face with a small round thing, with pudgy cheeks, blows a spit bubble at him, full of infinite zen. 

 

“-sweetheart,” Mycroft calls out, and Jim startles, popping his head back into the room.

 

“Are you talking to me or the baby?” he asks in what he realizes sounds probably quite like a very manic tone of voice.

 

Mycroft gives him a very flat look, then pointedly nods toward the baby, as if to say, ‘well when have I ever been guilty of indulging in pet names?’

 

“Well maybe you should,” Jim grumbles under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**7\. Coffee Shop**

 

Mycroft wrinkles his nose even before entering the establishment, but his moment of disdain is quickly quashed when someone exiting the shop bumps bodily into him.

 

He shudders and enters the store.

 

Jim waves from a table near the back, and Mycroft grits his teeth.

 

“Really, Jim? A Starbucks?” he asks. 

 

“Brilliant in its unexpectedness,” Jim answers sagely.

 

-

 

**8\. Flower Shop**

 

Mycroft looks across the street and frowns. “That’s the third flower shop that’s opened in this neighborhood in the past  _ month.” _

 

Beside him, his brother Sherlock, in disguise, valiantly tries to refrain from giving himself away and muttering about his brother’s supposed OCD, seeing as he is supposed to be dead. 

 

“Clearly, it’s a message,” Sherlock says sarcastically under his breath. “Someone’s trying to get your attention. Or maybe you should get some for my grave.”

 

**-**

 

**9\. Rentboy**

 

“This isn’t your first time, is it?” 

 

Jim lets his hand drift down from Mr. Holmes’s collarbone to rest on his chest - heart rate steady - the man was such an interesting bundle of contradictions.

 

He’d looked up curiously at Jim from the bed as if he wasn’t sure what to do next now that they were  _ done _ , as if he’d  _ never  _ brought a prostitute into one of his big,  _ posh  _ hotel rooms before. Hm, maybe he hadn’t; Jim recognized when someone was grief-stricken, and he had definitely been. 

 

His hand comes up to encircle Jim’s wrist.

 

“Well, I hope you haven’t gone and fallen in love with me,” Jim jokes in a low voice.

 

**-**

 

**10\. Historical/Royal**

 

Sherlock’s betrothed has been too busy waging war on the border to bother carrying out the terms of their agreement, and Sherlock is all the happier to stay unmarried, whatever that means for the kingdom.

 

So Mycroft does what he does best - he takes control, penning letters to Sherlock’s intended under the guise of his brother, starting a tentative correspondence that only grows - in length, in curiosity, in affection, and in frequency until the responses carry a sort of urgency, and Prince Jim Moriarty is declaring an armistice so he can wed his intended. 

 

The look on his face when Sherlock greets him with a dismissive glance, and then again, elicits something in Mycroft he can’t quite bring himself to name. But one time too many, and Mycroft finds himself running after the prince, who’s left dinner in a fit of frustration.

 

Jim startles, then looks him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes land on something and he take pause, fixing Mycroft with a look that pins him in place, and everything is only made worse with the next words out of his mouth: “You wrote those letters, didn’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need them to get married in scenario 10


	3. Chapter 3

  1. Christmas



 

Mycroft is glad he hasn’t called security, when he steps into his bedroom and discovers the breach is none other than Jim Moriarty.

 

On his bed. 

 

“Surprise!” Jim greets, throwing a handful of confetti into the air. “Happy Christmas!”

 

And naked. Save for a ribbon.

 

**-**

 

  1. Twins?



 

Jim is acting...strange, well, stranger than usual. But Mycroft just chalks it up to one of his games (Jim does love his games), a spontaneous character he’s donning, and, well if he wants to play a wilting virgin, Mycroft isn’t opposed to playing out a fantasy.

 

“I - um, I’ve never -“ he protests, flushed, even as he presses further into Mycroft’s space, chasing his lips.

 

The door opens with a  **_bang!_ ** and Mycroft turns, momentarily bewildered, because that looks like-

 

“RICHARD,  _ STOP  _ THAT,” Jim huffs, clearly out of breath, and a bit horrified. “MYCROFT! That’s my  _ brother!” _

 

**-**

 

  1. Fake Dating



 

“I think we should practice kissing,” Jim says all too innocently.

 

“Ha ha,” is Mycroft's dry response. “There will be eyes on us at all times and the monitor does not come off. Don't think you're getting away easily just because we need you to set foot in and show your face at that gala. And I'll be there every step of the way.”

 

“Yes,” Jim says, eyes wide, “which is why we should practice kissing for it.”

 

-

 

  1. Kidnapped  
  




The ride back is quiet. Mycroft isn't sure how he'll feel once he steps foot again in his own home. None of it seems real.

 

“Jim helped,” Sherlock finally says, voice still unsure. 

 

If so, why wasn't he there, Mycroft wants to ask.

 

“Went on a bit of a rampage actually; it's why the casualties were so high.”

 

-

 

  1. Timeloop



 

It was just an ordinary day. And then Sherlock died.

 

It didn't matter what Mycroft realized after the fact, nor that he had enough to put away criminal mastermind Jim Moriarty, because he'd gone and blown his brains out.

 

He almost doesn't want to see tomorrow - but then it comes - and Sherlock dies - again.

 

If it's not the roof it's something else and no matter what Mycroft does it is the  _ same. _

 

Then he gets a text from an unlikely ally:  _ You're stuck too, aren't you, Mr. Holmes? _


	4. Chapter 4

**16\. Author AU**

 

_ Then just before his nemesis can respond, he pulls a gun - and turns it on himself, pulling the trigger and splattering his brains on the asphalt.  _

 

Jim frowns. He'd thought it a brilliant twist when he wrote it, but it seems his editor hates the idea.

 

Written in red in the margins: What a waste! I had to stop reading here to get a drink.

 

Figures; Jim had had absolutely _no_ success in asking Mr. Holmes out for a drink, and now here his character, his _dead_ _villain_ , had managed it.

 

-

**17\. Sickfic**

 

It’s fairly early in the morning when Mycroft gets a cryptic text from an anonymous number:

 

_ Let’s play doctor. Xx _

 

Well, there’s only one person it could be, so Mycroft ignores it, putting the phone back in his pocket and stepping into the first of many meetings that day.

 

It occurs to him, after several hours of quiet from his phone, that there might be good reason for it.

 

At around 6 in the evening a knock sounds, and Jim opens his front door to find Mycroft standing there as pressed and pretty as ever - but carrying a takeaway bag.

 

“Aww soup - you  _ do _ care!” he simpers, trying to cover his surprise.

 

-

**18\. Eloping**

 

Jim sits up immediately, cupping Mycroft’s face in his hands.

 

“Do you mean that?”

 

Mycroft covers Jim’s hand with his own, holding his gaze. 

 

“It won’t be easy; our roles are lifetime positions, where retirement usually follows death,” Mycroft jokes, quiet. “And there’s no going back, once we decide.”

 

“Oh, having you all to myself is certainly worth dying for,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again.

 

-   
  
**19\. Pet names**

 

Mycroft’s secret nickname for Jim is World War III.

 

As in, “ah, yes, unfortunately I'll have to take my leave early; you understand, work calls, I've got to stop World War III,” when he meant he'd be meeting his lover for dinner and dessert. 

 

At first, Sherlock merely thinks his brother's lost his sense of humor, repeating the silly joke more than once. Then he wonders whether it is code.

 

Until he follows him, and spots the consulting criminal greeting Mycroft at the door with a kiss.

 

(Jim is flattered.)   
  


-

**20\. Christmas**

 

Mycroft comes home to a tree that was most definitely  _ not _ in his house when he left.

 

Truth be told, the sparkling, lit-up tree is the least of his concerns. Because there is also the roaring fireplace _plus_ candles, and the bearskin rug.

 

And Jim, who evidently broke in to redecorate, wearing some fur-lined outfit that covered actually not much at all. 

 

“Happy Christmas!” he says, propping his head up from where he’s lying on the rug. Off Mycroft’s dumb-founded expression, he adds, “What? This is practically tradition now.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

21\. Eyes

God, his eyes.

They were what did him in. Every time.

He’d look at Mycroft with those dark, hungry eyes, all pretenses fallen away, and Mycroft would get sucked right in.

That was the kicker, that the silver-tongued liar didn’t even need words. Mycroft still said yes.

-

22\. Crush

  
“Oh, he’s bad, as bad as they say. The worst kind of man. Dangerous, that’s true too. Could make me disappear with a snap of his fingers,” Jim mused under his breath.

“That why you sound like a schoolgirl doodling hearts in a notebook?” Sebastian mutters from the other end of the line. Not what he expected when he asked for a risk assessment.

-

23\. Moving in together

Most people leave a toothbrush, forget a jacket, maybe deliberately bring one set of clothes, that sort of thing.

Mycroft walks into his study the first Thursday of March to find the painting, a portrait, hanging on the west wall of the room has been replaced with what looks to be a Vermeer - he can’t even tell if it’s a forgery or not.

And Jim is sitting at his desk, lazily flipping through a notebook.

“There’s nothing in here about me,” he complains, when Mycroft stops in the doorway to stare.

“You -” Mycroft isn’t sure what he wants to ask first, and Jim finally looks up.

“Oh, and I took the liberty of clearing out half your closet and moving it to a guest room, to make room for my clothes,” Jim adds.

-

24\. Birthdays

Jim squints at him, then accuses with some disbelief, “Your birthday is in July.”

Mycroft’s expression of guilty nonchalance doesn’t change.

“It’s on official records. Everyone says it’s in July. Even Sherlock - even your mother tries to celebrate it in the summer.”

“Well,” Mycroft sighs, “when you share a birthday with baby Jesus, you tend to go forgotten.”

-

25\. Proposal (Felonies)

It’s a pleasant, temperate Tuesday when Jim wanders into the kitchen from the bedroom, gives Mycroft a quick peck on the cheek, and says off-handedly, “let’s get married!”

The kettle on the stove starts to whistle.

It’d been something of an armistice period, because that’s how the relationship worked. It waxed and waned depending on the position of Mercury in relation to the moon.

“What did you do?” Mycroft asks, mentally steeling himself for the destructive end of this peaceable period.

Mycroft, sitting before a panel and a surprise hearing just an hour later, doesn’t know whether to be angry or relieved that he technically, legally, is not required to testify against his spouse.

 


	6. Chapter 6

26\. Sickfic

Jim sneezes and Mycroft rears up, making a truly laughable face. He looks angered beyond belief, but at the same time makes no move to leave.

He sets down the acacia bed tray with a huff, lifting the dome cover to reveal a steaming bowl of soup and a spoon. There is also a new box of tissues.

It’s sweet - Jim fights a smile and lets the steam heat his face again. There is no way he’s telling Mycroft he went out in the rain in nothing but pants on purpose.

 

27\. Role-Swap

Jim slams the receiver back into the phone stand, and he has half a mind to hurl it across the room. The analysts before him stand terrified - as they well should be.

“Look at this, and tell me who this is,” he says, voice deceptively calm, gesturing to the CCTV still on his desk.

  
“Um, it’s um, Mycroft Holmes, sir,” the taller one says. It is; the man is standing serenely in the middle of a busy public space, hands folded over an umbrella handle as he surveys a hostage situation take place in a building just across the street.

“And how, pray tell, if he was right there, did you let him get away for the fifth time this month?”

 

28\. Sirens

It’s not even that haunting voice they tell you you’ll hear - the song that promises you the one thing you want most.

No, this creature keeps its mouth shut, refusing to sing for Jim. He’s traded his life for the other one’s freedom (a family member? A mate?), and now is at Jim’s beck and call.

It hasn’t said a single thing. Still, Jim wants nothing more than to go toward it, to descend into the water toward it until he can’t breathe. Maybe it’s curiosity; maybe that’s what he wants most.

 

29\. Hands

Such long fingers, such elegant lines. Jim takes Mycroft’s hands, one in each, and presses a kiss on the back one by one.

“No one hurts me like you do,” he murmurs into the skin. He breathes, tempted to do more. These hands, which likely haven’t fired a weapon in ages, were so deceptive. Jim wonders how many people know about the scar the ring hides, or how many deaths sentences their work has signed.

 

30\. More bots

Jim looks it over, walking circles around the machine, then stepping back to do it all over again, examining it head to toe.

“Yes, it looks just like him,” Jim finally says, even though his scientist puppets have left already. But the expression’s all wrong; he looks far too innocent like this.

Jim runs his thumb along its jawline, remembering Mycroft Holmes’s face as he answered Moriarty’s questions about Sherlock Holmes, one by one.

He wants to backhand it across the face right then, but he knows it’d hurt himself much more than it. Look at him, hating a machine.

 


End file.
